


Abuelita Maria

by GuileandGall



Series: Violaceous Fury [2]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Backstory, Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A piece prompted from a character meme. A look at the person that Furia looked up to most as a child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abuelita Maria

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chyrstis who prompted this question.

**Abuelita Maria**

_4a. Who did they look up to most as a child?_

The screen door banged against the doorframe and the young woman, who was the cause for the sound echoing through the house, froze and cringed. That was one of the little rules that kept some of the peace in the house. She had just started to relax and think the infraction would go unnoticed when the commanding voice carried from the back of the house.

"Soledad Amaranta Guerrero!"

"Lo siento, Abuelita," she replied as she approached the kitchen, from which emanated the striking yet contrary scents. There was a spiciness in the air that she knew all too well-pozole-but the slight hint of sweetness drew her eyes to the table. The smile that drew across her lips was large and a little greedy.

Furia knew she was the first one home, because if any of her siblings had gotten there first, they would have been sitting at that table, partaking of whatever treat their grandmother had prepared. Monday afternoons were all the same-her abuela always made them something special since it was the first day back. It was a little encouragement to make the week go by a little easier.

"How was your day mija?" Maria Guerrero asked, turning and opening her arms. It was an invitation the girl never turned down. As always, she hugged her mother's mother tightly and breathed in the faint scent of her perfume.

Her grandmother put it on every morning so that it was the first thing Furia's abuelo smelled when he woke up. Every year for Christmas he saved up and bought her a bottle of Shalimar, it had been what she had worn on their first date; and he swore that everything about her, including that scent had enchanted him. Yayo always said that by being reminded of that moment he fell in love with her every morning was the reason why he never needed to stray.

It was a tale often told, but still made Furia believe in magical things and in the idea that some people did not leave. Maybe that was part of the reason she always hugged her grandmother so tightly. By the age of thirteen, she had lost so much that she knew to hold on to what she had left with both hands and all the strength in her thin arms.

Maria just rocked her slightly and smoothed her unruly waves of jet black hair. "You have your mother's hair," the older woman noted picking up her granddaughter's chin. "Hers was wild when she was young as well. But it will be beautiful like hers. You are the spitting image of your mama in every way, mija."

Blinking up at her abuela, Furia felt a little twinge of sadness. "I miss her, Abuelita."

A warm kiss on her forehead made the feeling subside a little, though not dissipate completely-it was always there. Then Maria took the little cross that hung around the girl's neck in her fingers. She bent and kissed it, then held it for the girl to do the same. "I know. I miss her too. But she's with you, Flaca."

Furia saw the sadness she felt mirrored in her Grandmother's eyes as Maria stroked the girl's cheek. Her grandmother pointed her toward the table and whispered that she had made the girl's favorite treat. Furia was distracted enough not to see the matriarch of the family swipe away the tears with a lace handkerchief she kept in her pocket.

The door slammed just as Furia reached across the table and lifted the white towel away from the still warm empanadas stacked perfectly on the plate there were eight little fried fruit-filled treats brimming with fresh apples, cinnamon, and just a hint of chile, it was her grandmother's secret. As the stampede of feet rushed toward the kitchen, she recovered the plate and pulled six glasses out of the cabinet and laid them all on the counter before filling them all halfway with milk.

As backpacks were set in the dining room and shoes left beneath the coat rack by the door, Furia set a cup at each chair at the table along with a napkin because her brothers always forgot to grab one. Six siblings-five boys and a girl-all made a beeline for their seats, each reaching for the plate in the center of the table and setting their prize on the napkin placed near their glass. Gabriel was the youngest, so Furia handed him his empanada before grabbing her own and crossing the kitchen to lean against the counter near her grandmother.

Maria patted Furia's cheek and kissed her on the top of the head. The teenager just looked up at her with a shy little grin as she picked at the corner of her empanada, watching her siblings, more correctly, watching over them.

When Enrique elbowed his twin brother Emilio in the side of the head, it was the oldest, Furia, that stepped in and soothed the wound and patched the little argument that spawned it. It was the big sister that ushered the rest of them into the dining room to start on homework. She had seen her grandmother do it for the past four years, and her mother Angela for years before that. Furia knew the rituals well enough and perhaps somewhere deep down she knew eventually they would fall upon her alone.

Her grandmother was not well, even though neither she nor Yayo spoke of it too loudly or within earshot of any of the grandchildren, Furia sensed the strain. And the girl knew how to put herself in the right places at the right times to hear the things not meant for her ears. It was a blessing and a curse.

A firm gentle squeeze wrapped around her shoulders. "How goes it, warden?" her grandfather laughed, eying the table full of his youngest child's grandchildren.

Furia shrugged. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "And is your homework done yet?"

"No, sir."

"You should join them. I have a treat planned and I don't want you to be up all night again trying to get that algebra done."

Her grin formed with his. When he glanced past her, she murmured quietly, "She seems tired."

There was familiar tension in her grandfather's mouth. "I know. I know, mija." He kissed her head and pressed her toward the table before heading to the kitchen. She watched her grandfather wrap his arms around her Abuelita's waist and nuzzle the love of his life.

The girl both envied and admired her grandmother. She took care of her daughter Angela as she fought a losing battle against Leukemia then she took in the seven grandchildren of her youngest child and managed to keep them under control despite the grief and the acting out. Furia and her siblings never wanted for love and guidance while their grandmother was alive. And Furia was proud to carry her grandmother's name, though no one knew it.


End file.
